


Petrichor

by Draegaa



Series: Storm Winds [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Slow Build, death mention, eventual graphic violence, rape mention, tranquility mention, usual terrible circle-related stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-30
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-06 22:44:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4239441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draegaa/pseuds/Draegaa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Petrichor (n.) - The scent that accompanies the first rain on parched ground after a period of hot, dry weather.</p>
<p>Ruadan Amell is a mage, imprisoned at Ferelden's Kinloch Hold. He has sworn to leave the Circle, to live free again, bound to no duty he does not choose. But the darkspawn have begun massing, and the Blight poses too great a threat to be ignored.  Ruadan will travel alongside his companions and his lover, forging powerful and unusual alliances, and do whatever it takes to end the Blight and bring hope to all the people of Ferelden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this the first fic I've ever posted online, and it's going to be a long one. Petrichor is the first of a three (or four) part story spanning from Origins to Inquisition. Yeah, I like to start small. ;) I always want to improve my writing, so I you want to, please leave a comment!

Ruadan’s feet ached. His head ached. His wrists ached. His _heart_ ached. _Never again. I’ll never see them again._ Except he could see them now, in his mind. In images that forced themselves into his consciousness, like someone holding his face to the pages of a book saying, “Look at this, and this, and this.” Endlessly. “Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.”

_Look at this._ His father’s limp form, bloody carpenter’s hammer still in his hand, slumped over the body of the mercenary he had killed. _Look at this._ His mother, forced to her knees, helpless before the Templars’ power, telling him to look away. He hadn’t obeyed, and still saw her head separating from her shoulders and rolling across the ground. _Look at this._ The frozen, scattered pieces of the Templars and soldiers too blinded by “duty” to imagine there could be more than one mage in such a small village. _Your fault._ The villagers, screaming and drawing weapons on the intruders, only to be cut down by Chantry blades. _Your fault._ The rich, deep voice of the Templar Captain declaring sadly that the village “must be taught a lesson, for defying the will of the Maker.” _Your fault._ The slate tiled roof of the meeting hall collapsing in with a roar of flame, supporting beams burned to charcoal.

“Hey! Mageling!” His head snapped up as he was startled from his painful reverie by a yank on his manacles. “It’s time for your afternoon dose.” He had almost walked into the back of the wagon, to which his chain was hooked. They had him walking whenever the initial unconsciousness from each new dose of magebane would wear off. This was for his benefit, they told him. “Exercise,” they called it.

The Templar who had spoken to him grabbed Ruadan by the top of the head, forcing him to tilt it back, and stared pointedly at him, eyebrows raised. “Come on, kid, open up. Or do we need to do this the hard way?” Ruadan growled and opened his mouth, glaring icily at the knight, who pushed the metal spout of a small teapot between his teeth. Sickly sweet liquid with an acrid aftertaste filled his mouth, and he swallowed quickly, trying not to gag on the flavor. He hated that he had given in so quickly, but he had a chipped tooth from the “hard way,” and there was only so much damage a 10-year-old boy could do to a grown man in platemail.

The wagon started rolling slowly on again, forcing him to walk or be dragged behind. Once again, defiance in this would harm no one but himself. He had seen what open defiance had brought. The Templars had come to the village once, a few months before, only a couple knights that first time. They had not anticipated resistance from the villagers or Ruadan’s parents, and had left, only to return in force. Later, one of the Templars had told him that a village was usually pleased to be rid of a mage, sneering that his village was “full of ignorant savages who didn’t understand the danger of magic.”

His captors never bothered to use his name, so he refused to call them by theirs. Mockery didn’t come naturally to him, but it was his only weapon right now. The knight who had just dosed him was “Bereskarn the Bald.” “Captain Ram Rammer” had ordered his parents murdered and his village burned, and the sword of “The Talking Bucket” had sheared his mother’s head from her neck. The Bucket made him shudder, and not just from the memory of what she had done. She never took off her helmet that he could see – thus the name – and she NEVER spoke to him, not even to shout an order.

After just a few more minutes of walking, Ruadan felt his legs get heavier, and his feet started to drag. Suddenly a pair of gauntleted hands grabbed him by the upper arms and marched him faster to the back of the wagon. The Bucket hoisted him onto the wagon bed like a sack of potatoes. He let out a noise of protest at the rough treatment, and got the back of one of those metal gauntlets across his mouth in return, blinding pain lancing through his face.

“That’s enough, Templar Marsh,” Captain Rammer said calmly, “we are only a week out from the Tower, and you know the Knight-Commander doesn’t like us bringing in damaged goods.”

“Yes sir.”

Ruadan laid down in the wagon and _despised_ them. Why were they doing this? Why did they want his magic? Where were they going? _How_ did they know where to find him? His head was as full of questions as his heart was full of grief and anger. _Hakkon Wintersbreath, shatter them into pieces. Lady of the Skies, bring down a tempest upon their heads._ He quietly lifted a hand to his mouth, wiping the blood from his lips. He stared at his bloody fingers, and hated. _Look at this._ Slowly, his mind drifted, one thought guiding him into sleep.

_Their fault._


	2. Chapter One: Ten Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruadan studies in preparation for his Harrowing, chats with a friend, and is troubled by old memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has a short description of past attempted rape, just to warn you. And of course, kudos and comments appreciated!

“The First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander are arguing again, and that scrawny new apprentice says she heard that another Templar is missing.”

“Who would be stupid enough to hurt a Templar? They’d probably brand you.”

“Shhhh, don’t say that, the Templars are just here to keep us safe. They don’t want to hurt us if they don’t have to.”

Ruadan sighed softly. _May you never learn the truth,_ he thought, irritated but unsurprised by the naïve denial of the last speaker. _Not their fault,_ he reminded himself. _Probably been in this place as long as they can remember_. In his ten years at Kinloch Hold, he had seen firsthand how this place could break a mage. Some took their own lives in moments of despair and self-loathing, some asked to have their will and magic taken from them for fear of their own weakness, and some were driven into the arms of demons by those claiming to protect against such things.

The Tower always took something from even the mages who kept their lives and minds. He knew a gentle, kind young woman who prayed every day to the Maker to help her understand why he had made her a monster. Another apprentice hadn’t spoken a word since one of the older enchanters had guided her through child birth, and then promptly handed the babe to the waiting Knight-Commander. Some mages still saw the Templars as guardians, blocking out memories of muffled whimpers from dark corners and bruises quickly covered by hastily donned robes. For these mages, blind trust in the Templars and embracing the illusion of safety inside the Circle was the only way to keep from succumbing to a lifetime of despair. As for Ruadan, the Circle had forged his red, raw hatred of the Templars to a hard, keen blade.

 _Nothing to be done right now_. Ruadan turned his attention back to the page he had been reading – The Wider Application of the Grease Spell, he noted with a smirk – broad shoulders hunching over the table. The quiet chatter persisted, and finally he grew annoyed. The library was supposed to be a quiet place. “Can you all please go elsewhere to converse? I’m trying to study.”

An older apprentice with a head of dark hair and a perpetually forlorn face stepped out from around the corner of the stacks, looking guilty, and Ruadan heard the other two scramble away down the other side of the shelves. “Oh! Sorry, Ruadan! We didn’t mean to interrupt your studying, I know how busy you’ve been. Is your Harrowing soon?”

“You know they don’t tell us that, Jowan. They want us to be unprepared.” He realized how bitter he sounded, and said in a more even tone, “but yes, I believe it will be soon. One of the enchanters, Karl, has been hinting at it to me, though I’m not sure how he would know.”

“That was good of him, assuming he’s not just hoping you’ll fall on your knees before him in thanks. I’ve heard stories.”

Ruadan huffed a laugh. “Well if he helps me be prepared for whatever awful test they want to put me through, a bit of thanking would be the least I could do. Besides, wasn’t he attached at the hip with Anders? He’s been gone so long this time, I bet Karl is getting lonely.”

Jowan tried for a smile, but mostly he looked nervous. “I wonder if Anders finally escaped for good. I’m not sure I could ever be brave enough to try, being an apostate must be terrifying.”

Ruadan shook his head. Jowan was the only person he was close to in the Tower, but he could be a bit of a nervous mess sometimes. He lowered his voice so they wouldn’t be overheard. “Can’t be more terrifying than being locked in here at the whims of the Templars.”

Jowan jumped like he’d been goosed. “Ruadan, be careful,” he hissed.

“You’re right, of course.” He sighed heavily, “Now go away and let me study, please.”

“Alright, I’ll see you at dinner.” Jowan shot a concerned glance over his shoulder as he walked away.

Ruadan berated himself for letting his worry and anger over his upcoming Harrowing show. It was a monstrous thing to put young mages through without preparation or support, and more monstrous for offering tranquility as a “merciful” alternative. But as much as he trusted Jowan to not say anything to the Templars or the First Enchanter, it was best to never reveal to anyone the depth of his hatred for it all. Safer for now to simply play the diligent apprentice, complete the Harrowing, and at least remove the threat of tranquility.

Most of his fellow apprentices had been taken from their families or abandoned while very young, and had only vague, distant memories of their life outside Kinloch Hold. But since Ruadan had been brought to the tower later than most, he still had clear memories of his mother teaching him ways to guide and direct his magic, her lessons on communing with the spirits of the Fade, and the joy of his magic flowing through him as natural as breathing.

So while many young mages absorbed the lessons of fear and self-loathing that the Chantry sisters bleated at them, Ruadan’s anger simply grew with every insistence that his magic was a mark of some absent god’s hatred. He refused to see it as anything but a gift, wild and wonderful. Ironic that a woman who fought a war in the name of freedom was now the central figure of the religion that would see all mages caged. However, he was also aware that such thoughts would be considered blasphemy in the eyes of the sisters. So he learned to never contradict, but nod along to the lessons like a good Andrastian.

Of course, the Tower broke and twisted Templars as surely as mages. Born or made, all Templars were monsters in their own way. Some took pleasure in their “duty” of keeping mages in their place, and a few Templars were more proactive, exercising their power in ways that were not sanctioned, but rarely punished. A mage’s word was worthless next to that of a holy knight of the Chantry. Even the Templars who truly believed that the Circle protected everyone did not see mages as people, but dangerous weapons. And to ensure their next taste of lyrium, they would dutifully remove the head of any mage who dared dream of freedom.

But Ruadan dreamed of more than freedom, he dreamed of vengeance for himself and his family, and an end to those who would make slaves of all mages. He knew he needed to be patient, but for him, the fight had already begun. No one else knew the true culprit, but Ruadan’s keen-edged anger had already rid the Tower of three Templars. Predators, all. The worst of the mages’ jailors, they had had reputations for cornering apprentices in quiet hallways to “relieve” themselves. One apprentice had gone to report the Templar to the Knight-Commander, and was next seen stacking books in the library, red sunburst on his forehead.

These were the open secrets of the Tower, so when Ruadan had found himself pressed against the cold stone in a dark corner, he was terrified, but not surprised. He had grown taller since the day he arrived at the Circle, but still had the bony frame of a boy outgrowing his muscles. He could still feel the heavy press of the steel breastplate against his spine, fingers grabbing at the hem of his robes, and the hot breath smelling of mint as the Templar hissed in his ear, “Keep quiet, robe, and I’ll be done in a minute.” Panting with fear, Ruadan had lashed out behind him with a thread of his force magic, connecting with something and _crushing_ as hard as his horrified mind could manage. The Templar’s fingers suddenly bit into his thighs with bruising pressure, before going limp. Ruadan had turned in time to see the knight slump to the ground with a soft gurgle and a crash of metal on stone, eyes staring wide at the ceiling.

Ruadan stared blankly at the page in front of him, recalling the choking terror that his thirteen-year-old self had felt walking back to the dorms. When news came that the body was discovered, he had known for certain that he would be called to the First Enchanter’s office to be branded. But the summons had never come, and over time, the terror of discovery had faded to wariness. That first kill was an accident, just a frightened child lashing out, but the fact that he had gotten away with it had made Ruadan think that perhaps the Templars weren’t as untouchable as they seemed.

Slamming the book closed, Ruadan squeezed his eyes shut in frustration, heart pounding with remembered anger. There was no way he could concentrate on studying when his brain kept thinking about the gods-damned Templars. He need to stay focused on the present. Reliving old memories would probably not help him pass his Harrowing. Ruadan lifted his eyes to the ceiling, and offered up a silent prayer. _Lady of the Skies, help me calm my mind and prepare for this trial. And if I pass, may I one day see your sky again._ Ruadan breathed slowly in and out, trying to empty his mind of the distracting thoughts.

 

* * *

 

 

Two days later, Ruadan was pulled from his slumber when a hand shook his shoulder. The dormitory was dark, but he could make out the form of the person who had awakened him. An older enchanter whose name he did not know.

“Come on, Amell, it’s time. The First-Enchanter and the Knight-Commander await you in the Harrowing chamber.”

A spark of fear ran down Ruadan’s spine, but he stamped it out and climbed out of bed. By the time he had slipped his robe on, the other mage was waiting patiently out in the hallway. She nodded at him and turned to lead the way to the top floor of the Tower. As they walked, Ruadan considered asking her what he should expect, but held his tongue. The First-Enchanter would tell him what he needed to know, or not.

At the top of the last flight of stairs, the older mage stepped to the side, gesturing for Ruadan to continue through the doors. The Harrowing Chamber was large and circular, with a high ceiling and towering windows all around. Ruadan gazed hungrily out at the night sky, heart pounding – whether from his nerves or the rare sight of the stars, he wasn’t sure.

Knight-Commander Gregoir’s voice rang through the chamber, and Ruadan pulled his eyes away from the shining moon to look at the Templar. “’Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him.’ So spoke the Prophet Andraste as she cast down the Tevinter Imperium, ruled by mages who had brought the world to the edge of ruin.” _Is that why the Templars use blood magic to ensure their rule over us?_ “Your magic is a gift, but it is also a curse, for demons of the dream realm – the Fade – are drawn to you, and will seek to use you as a gateway into this world.” Ruadan fought to keep from scowling at the pompous knight.

“This is why the Harrowing exists. The ritual sends you into the Fade, and there you will face a demon, armed with only your will.”

“What is the goal of that? What is the point of sending me alone?”

“To test you, of course.”

 _How can you test me on something I’ve never been taught?_ “Wouldn’t it be better to guide apprentices into the Fade and teach them what to look for, and how to resist demons?”

Irving sighed, “This is how it’s always been done, in every Circle.”

 _The greatest reason for continuing a pointless and cruel tradition._ “I am simply trying to understand the purpose of the Harrowing.”

Gregoir huffed impatiently. “To make sure you mages know how to resist a demon’s temptation.”

 _Resisting a demon would be easy,_ Ruadan thought, _if the person being tempted isn’t frightened all the time._ But he kept that to himself. He’d learned early on that Templars could get touchy when you questioned the effectiveness of the Circle.

“And if I cannot resist the demon?” He already knew the answer, but wanted to hear them say it.

It was the Knight-Commander who answered. “It will turn you into an abomination, and the Templars will be forced to slay you.”

_Forced to kill me, how sad for them._

Ruadan felt a bit nauseous as he was directed to the pedestal filled with lyrium in the middle of the room. The First-Enchanter was saying something about secrets and necessity, but a buzzing had taken up residence in Ruadan’s ears. _Stay calm. Lady of the Skies watch over me. Korth give me strength. Mother, I will remember your guidance._

He reached out to sink his hands into the lyrium, and the world flashed white.


	3. Chapter Two: Illusions of the Fade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruadan faces his Harrowing. The Fade is a dangerous place, but he finds an unlikely guide, and some help from the local denizens. But in the Fade, illusions are everywhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!! Kudos and comments are VERY welcome.

Ruadan was standing on brown, cracked dirt, next to an empty pedestal identical to the one that had contained the lyrium. His peripheral vision was oddly distorted, and he thought he kept catching glimpses of darting creatures. But when he turned to focus on them, there was nothing to see. Patches of the rolling ground were tiled in what appeared to be marble, and odd spires, statues, and twisted plants were randomly decorating the landscape. The sky was filled with roiling gray-green clouds, but not a breath of wind could be felt. In fact, the air felt unnaturally still, almost as if it were reluctant to be pushed aside even for his movements. Far in the distance, there appeared to be a massive floating island covered in towers and battlements. _The Black City? Perhaps the Chantry does not always lie._

Ruadan quickly realized he was himself standing on an island, and when he looked off the edge, he could see nothing but a black void. He cautiously stepped back from the precipice and attempted to orient himself. Next to a statue of a man with what looked like tentacles for arms, Ruadan noticed a path leading further into the island. He started down the path, eyes constantly flicking around, looking for any fade creatures or other pitfalls. His mother had once told him that the Fade was like any wild place: not truly malicious, but still dangerous for those who did not tread cautiously or respectfully. However, he also suspected that the denizens of this part of the Fade suffered as much from the Harrowing as any mage, and would be actively hostile, if only to protect themselves. Circle mages were told over and over that the Fade was filled with terrifying and dangerous entities, and the apprentices entering the Fade at this place likely attacked any creature they encountered out of simple reflex.

So Ruadan was not surprised when a tiny wisp floated out onto the path in front of him and sent a jolt of painful energy at him. “Please! I’m not going to harm you! I am just trying to get past!” Another shock rolled through him, forcing his spine straight and making his jaw slam shut with a click of his teeth. _I have to keep moving._ Ruadan groaned and raised his hand to release a blast of force magic in the wisp’s direction, hoping to startle it away. With a faint squeak, the wisp disappeared. _Hopefully it just ran away._

He had little time for guilt, and so kept moving. He needed to find this demon, and . . . what, exactly? Fight it? Talk to it? Ruadan wasn’t certain, but he hoped he would know when the time came. At a curve in the path, he started when he heard someone speak. A voice belonging to a large mouse the same color as the ground, weary-sounding, but full of anger.

“Someone else thrown to the wolves, as fresh and unprepared as ever. It isn’t right that the Templars do this. Not to you, me, anyone.”

Ruadan hesitated, wary, but the mouse had not tried to attack him. “I agree. It’s not right.”

“But they keep doing it, don’t they? We get treated like rabid dogs, and let them get away with it.” The mouse sighed, “It’s always the same. But it’s not your fault. You’re in the same boat I was, aren’t you?”

With a flare of white light, the mouse grew rapidly, changing into a man a bit shorter than Ruadan, wearing red and gold mage robes. “You can call me Mouse.”

“I am Ruadan. You took the Harrowing? You were a mage?”

“It’s fuzzy, that time before. They wake you up at midnight and drag you to the Harrowing chamber. If you take too long to awaken, the Templars assume you failed and kill your body. That’s what they did to me, I think. I have no body to reclaim.” Mouse’s voice was filled with sorrow. “I don’t know how long it’s been. I’m trapped here forever. And you don’t have much time before you end up the same way.”

“I see. I’m sorry that happened to you.” Ruadan was a bit surprised; he knew that souls of the dead passed through the Fade, but hadn’t known they could linger. Perhaps it was a side-effect of the body dying when the mind was in the Fade. “The Templars are ruthless. I did not know that the dead could remain here, but there is still much I don’t know of the Fade. Can you help me? Do you know what I need to do?”

“There’s something here contained, just for an apprentice like you. A demon lured here. You need to confront it, and resist possession. That’s your way out. Or your opponent’s, if the Templars don’t kill you. A test for you, a tease for the creatures of the Fade.”

“They trapped a demon here to face apprentices?” _How? The only way to bind a demon against its will is blood magic._ “That seems . . . cruel, for both parties. Why do this?”

“A question for those in the Tower. Perhaps you will be lucky enough to ask. Perhaps one day, so will I. There are other spirits here. Some might even offer you help, if you can bring yourself to trust anything you find here. I’ll follow you, if you don’t mind. My chance was long ago, but you may have a way out.”

Ruadan wondered how much help the mage would be. He seemed a bit timid from all his years – decades? centuries? – in the Fade. But his information seemed useful, and maybe there was more to the man than it seemed.

“Come,” Mouse said nervously, “it is dangerous to be out in the open like this. Not that hiding helps much in the Fade.”

“You don’t know how long you’ve been here, but how have you survived?”

“I became small. Unnoticeable. Hide from the bigger things, learn from the smaller things. There are places where you can hide in shadows that seem to go on forever. Stay in those shadows too long, and they begin to creep inside of you.” Mouse broke off with a shudder.

“You say I must battle and resist a demon’s temptations, but do you know how I can leave when I’m done?”

“There are doorways, I believe. Portals to lead you out. But they are all sealed. I have seen many mages try to leave before their Harrowing is complete, and none have succeeded. The portals will be opened when you have faced the demon.”

“Opened? By the mages? How do they know when a Harrowing is finished?” Was the First-Enchanter somehow here, watching?

“I do not know, Ruadan. Come. Your time is limited.”

The man shrank back into a mouse, and turned to run in the direction Ruadan had been heading before their meeting. He was forced to dispatch two more wisps and a spirit in the form of a large wolf, while Mouse cowered off the path, nearly invisible against the brown dirt. They passed a strange, flat area, bordered by fire. Mouse nudged Ruadan away from it, saying fearfully, “that is where you must face the demon, but you would be wise to seek help, first. Some spirits may choose to aid you.”

 _Or attack me, like those wisps._ As they continued on, Ruadan noticed that the strange plants had become interspersed with weapons of all shapes and sizes. There were swords and axes, spears and massive hammers, and even a few magic staves, all rising from the ground as though they had grown there.

“Another spirit this way. Valor.” Mouse sniffed. “It never seemed equal to its name to me. Pomposity would suit it better.”

“You’ve met it before? I thought you preferred to hide.”

“It is no danger to me,” Mouse sounded contemptuous. “Attacking a mouse could hardly be considered valorous.”

Mouse guided him deeper into the forest of blades, to a tall, glowing white figure. The spirit wore a suit of plate armor, standing tall, with a massive greatsword strapped to its back. Mouse twitched his whiskers and said, “I’ll wait here. I have no desire to speak with that insufferable spirit.”

Ruadan shrugged and approached the figure, who spoke with a deep, sonorous voice. “Another mortal thrown into the flames and left to burn, I see. Your mages have devised a cowardly test. Better you were pitted against each other to prove your mettle with skill, then to be sent unarmed against a demon.”

“I do not disagree, though I would say that it’s the Templars who enforce the taking of this test.”

“Hmm. Perhaps.” The spirit shrugged. “No matter. That you remain means you have not yet defeated your hunter. I wish you a glorious battle to come.”

“Thank you, spirit. I am called Ruadan.” His mother had once told him that spirits were like mortals in many ways, and that, even in the Fade, polite behavior was valued.

“I am Valor, a warrior spirit. I search for the perfect expression of combat.”

“You created all these weapons, then?” Ruadan gestured at the vast collection of weaponry surrounding them.

“They are brought into being by my will. I understand that in your world, only mages can will things into being. Those other mortals must lead such hollow, empty lives.”

“In our world,” Ruadan explained, “magic is not the only way to create and shape. Those who cannot wield it learn other methods to alter the world.”

“I do not understand, mortal, but you should not linger here to explain. You have a battle to fight!”

“Can you help me?” Ruadan did not want to leave the spirit without at least requesting its aid. “May I use one of these weapons?”

Valor seemed like it had anticipated the request. “I will give one to you, but only if you will duel me, first. I shall test your mettle as it should be tested.”

 _And possibly destroy me as surely as any demon._ “I have been sent here unprepared to battle a demon as a test, and now you wish me to fight you, as well? It seems you just want to kill me yourself.”

“How dare you accuse me! I am no demon, preying upon helpless mortals to steal their essence! I am a being of honor and valor! I am a warrior!”

“You yourself said that pitting an unprepared mage against a demon was a cowardly act!” Ruadan didn’t want to manipulate the spirit, but he was not certain he could defeat it. “Show your honor, and help me prepare for this fight!”

Valor grumbled, then nodded sharply, “Insolent mage. But it is clear that you have a strong will, and a certain sense of honor. Go and choose whichever weapon you wish. I have confidence that you will succeed.”

 _Oh thank the Lady._ “Thank you, Valor. I will not forget your aid.”

Ruadan turned away and went to browse among the weapons, finally selecting a long, narrow staff made of dark, glossy wood. It was topped with a twisted spike of bright metal, set with small, violet gems the exact shade of Ruadan’s eyes. The staff thrummed with magical energy as he twirled it around, passing it from hand to hand. It was the perfect weight and balance, like it had been made just for him. Ruadan grinned. _The power of the Fade, I suppose._

As he walked back out of Valor’s clearing, Mouse joined him, eyeing the staff with admiration. “I see you got the spirit to aid you. You’re braver than most who come here.”

“No, just wise enough to take all the help I can get.”

Mouse sounded skeptical. “Most mages are terrified of any being they encounter here.”

“Well they can hardly be blamed. You must remember how it is: our teachers drill the dangers of demons into us until mages fear anything that has the slightest chance of being a demon.”

“Fear is the death of wisdom, I have seen it many times. Most mages I’ve seen here pretend to not see anything that isn’t actively attacking them. And few of them have ever gotten a staff before.”

“Well I shall see if it will do any good. Let’s carry on, and see what else I can find.”

Mouse was sniffing the air, sweeping his whiskers back and forth. “Be cautious, there is another spirit here. Not the one hunting you, but still . . . it is powerful, I can feel it.”

Over the next small hill lay a monstrous creature, like a bear, hide slashed and bloody, with bony spikes protruding from its flesh. _A bereskarn?_ As Ruadan approached, it heaved itself to its feet with a groan, and spoke with a low, sleepy-sounding tone. “So you are the mortal being hunted. And the small one there, is he to be a snack for me?”

Mouse shifted back to his human form and glowered at the beast. “I don’t like this. He isn’t going to help us.”

The beast yawned. “No matter, the demon will get you eventually, and perhaps there will even be scraps left.”

“What sort of being are you?”

Mouse answered before the creature could respond. “It’s a demon, maybe more powerful that the one you are to fight.”

“Do not speak as if I am not here, little snack!” The beast turned its dull eyes to Ruadan. “Begone! Surely you have better things to do than bother Sloth, mortal. I tire of you already.”

“I am quite sorry to bother you, but I need help to fight another demon trapped in this realm. You are also a demon, but you don’t seem interested in trying to possess me.”  

Sloth huffed. “Don’t flatter yourself little mage. You have nothing I’m interested in. Now leave and let me nap.”

“You value rest and quiet more than anything, correct? Well if you help me defeat the demon I am to fight here, I shall leave you to your peace.”

“Hrmph. I could always just kill you and your little friend there, and have peace again anyway.”

Ruadan shrugged. “That sounds like a lot more effort than a small bit of aid.”

“Bah, you are an impudent little mortal. Very well, if you can answer my riddles, I shall teach your pet rat there to take a more . . . formidable shape. My shape.”

 _That would be_ very _useful._ Ruadan looked at Mouse. “It’s up to you but you know I could use the help.”

Mouse wrung his hands. “I don’t think I’d make a very good bear. How would I hide?”

“If you learn a more powerful shape,” Ruadan argued, “you won’t need to hide, you could face what you fear.”

“What do you know?” Mouse snarled, surprising Ruadan with his vehemence. “I have already faced more in this place than you ever will!” Mouse closed his eyes for a few seconds, and sounded contrite when he spoke again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to get angry. It’s the Fade, it changes you. I will try to become a bear to help you, if he can teach me.”

“Hmm, but first the riddles,” Sloth rumbled. “Three of them, I think. Fail, and I will devour you both.”

 _You’ll undoubtedly try._ Ruadan nodded to the demon. “I am ready when you are, Sloth.”

“The first riddle is this: I have seas with no water, coasts with no sand, towns with no people, mountains without land. What am I?”

Ruadan had heard this riddle before. Bored mages found a myriad of way to occupy their minds. “A map, is it?”

Sloth harrumphed, seeming almost disappointed. “Correct. Second riddle: I’m rarely touched, but often held. If you have wit, you’ll use me well. What am I?”

 _What can you hold without touching it? Use it to display wit? Held not touched. Breath can be held, but has nothing to do with wit. Ah, yes._ “My tongue, I believe.”

The demon yawned again. “Yes, your witty tongue. Fair enough. Now for the last one. Often will I spin a tale, never will I charge a fee. I’ll amuse you an entire eve, but, alas, you won’t remember me. What am I?”

 _Tells a story throughout an entire night, but you’ll forget the story? That is quite simple._ “A dream is the answer.”

“You are correct.” Sloth chuckled. “Rather apropos here in the Fade, no? But, you’ve won my challenge and proven yourself an amusing distraction. So, I shall teach your little friend there my form. Concentrate, rat, if you wish to learn.”

The sloth demon approached Mouse and stared intently into his eyes. “You must imagine not only my shape, but also the size and the weight. Be willing to release the light, agile, and fearful form of the mouse, and embrace the intentions of a bear: not to hide, but to overpower.”

Mouse shivered as he squeezed his eyes shut. After about a minute of silence, the mage flared with the white light of his transformation, and shifted into a long, bulky shape. Mouse’s new form was that of a normal bear, however, free of the flayed flesh and protruding spikes of the Sloth demon. _A bit more palatable, at least._

“Like this! Am I a bear? It feels . . . heavy.”

The Sloth demon seemed impressed with the transformation. “Close enough, I suppose. Go, then, and defeat your demon . . . or whatever you intend to do. I weary of your prattling.”

“Thank you for your help, Sloth,” Ruadan said.

The demon merely yawned before curling up to resume its nap. Ruadan turned to walk back down the main path, to the place Mouse had told him the demon awaited. The mage lumbered behind him, sniffing at the air curiously.

“You weren’t wrong about not being able to hide in that form. How does it feel, besides ‘heavy’?”

“I feel more exposed,” Mouse explained, “but less afraid of being seen. I can fight, now.”

“Well I will appreciate your help against the demon, and all your help so far. I wish I had some way to help you.”

“Most of this has been your doing,” Mouse pointed out. “You talked a spirit of Valor out of fighting, and outwitted a Sloth demon. You are an extraordinary mage. Perhaps when you are a full mage, you can look for a way.”

Ruadan considered it. _Without using blood magic, I doubt there’s anything that could be done to bring Mouse out of the Fade. And probably not even then._

As they walked, now passing Valor’s forest of weapons, Ruadan began to feel anger growing inside of him. _What happened to Mouse was wrong. What they do to young mages is wrong. Steal us from our homes and families, lock us in a cage, and then throw us like meat to a demon._ His hands started to shake. _How many apprentices have met a fate like Mouse’s. I’ll tear their_ throats _out!_

Ruadan clenched his fists against the hot feeling building in his chest, and took deep breaths. What was wrong with him? He need to concentrate, to meet this demon with a clear head. The need to stay calm in the Fade was one of the few lessons the Circle and his mother had agreed upon.

Mouse glanced at him. “You can feel it, too, can’t you? I think this one is a demon of Rage.”

It was.

The creature was as tall as Ruadan, and appeared to be formed from living molten rock, flame sporadically licking along its body. He approached it, staff held at the ready, breathing against the burning waves of wrath that washed over his mind. _I will defeat this demon, and then I will end those who murdered my family and locked me in a gods-forsaken cage. It will_ end!

The demon’s eyes were fixed on Ruadan’s, burning like a forge-fire. Its voice reminded him of the snapping crackle of flames. “I can _taste_ your anger! It fills your whole being and glows like a beacon. You come to me at last, and soon I will see the land of the living with your eyes. You shall belong to me, body and soul.”

Ruadan snarled. “Not likely, demon!”

The rage demon only laughed. “So this creature is your offering, Mouse? Another plaything as per our arrangement?”

 _What?!_ Ruadan turned to ask Mouse what the demon spoke of, but the mage was already speaking.

“We don’t have an arrangement. Not anymore.”

“Aww,” the demon mocked. “And after all those wonderful meals we have shared? Now suddenly the mouse has changed the rules?”

Mouse reared up on his hind-legs and let out a ground-shaking roar. “I’m not a mouse, now! And soon, I won’t have to hide. I don’t need to bargain with _you._ ”

Rage crouched low like a prowling animal. “We shall see . . .”

The creature roared and lunged at Ruadan with outstretched claws, swiping viciously at his face. The mage jerked back, sweeping his staff around to slam into the side of the demon’s head, knocking it to the side. Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Ruadan began to spin his staff with arms stretched in front of himself, drawing air in from all directions. The demon quickly righted itself and turned back to face Ruadan, spitting liquid fire. He met the attack with a blast of spiraling wind, causing the stream of fire to spray back onto the demon, forcing it backwards.

Four wisps manifested around the edge of the strange arena, shuddering and glowing red under the influence of the demon’s wrath.

“Mouse! The wisps!” The bear leapt to brutally cuff one of diminutive spirits, which vanished with a squeak, before turning to catch the attention of the other three.

Ruadan turned his focus back to the rage demon, which was readying another blast of fire. Sweeping the tip of his staff up through the air, and then bringing his other hand down in a fist, Ruadan bounced the demon up and slammed him into the ground. However, a bit of liquid fire escaped the demon’s mouth, splashing across his thigh. Ruadan screamed with agony as his flesh seared, a smell of burnt cloth and roasting meat rising from the wound. Panting harshly in an effort not to whimper, Ruadan ran limping to the stunned demon, and drove the spike of his staff savagely into its head. The creature jerked violently, then collapsed and dissipated into motes of glowing dust.

The rage demon dead, Ruadan looked around to check on Mouse, and saw him crushing the final wisp between his jaws. The adrenaline from the battle was draining from him, and the unnatural rage the demon had forced on him shrinking back down into a knot of controlled anger deep in his mind. Fresh pain from the burn washed over him, sending him to his knees with a moan. He had little skill at healing, but he sent a small burst of creation magic into the wound, followed by a minor ice spell. The pain eased back to merely agonizing, and Ruadan got back to his feet.

Mouse grinned at him, a man once more. “You did it! You actually did it! When you came, I hoped that maybe you might be able to . . . but I never really thought any of you were worthy.”

A chill ran down Ruadan’s spine. _Worthy? What an odd thing to say._ Mouse had lost his trust as soon as the rage demon had spoken to him.

“The young mages you betrayed before me. What were their names?”

“What?” Mouse wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Th-they were not as promising as you. It was a long time ago, I don’t remember their names. I don’t even remember my own name. It’s the Fade, and the Templars killing me, like they tried with you.”

 _Something isn’t right._ “Be silent,” Ruadan said coldly, considering the mage standing in front of him. It was hard to think past the throbbing in his thigh. Worthy, Mouse had said. Braver than most. None of _them_ got a staff. An extraordinary mage. Not as promising as you. Finally, the last puzzle piece slid into place. _Ah._

“I know your name.” Ruadan’s heart was pounding. _Here, then is the real Harrowing._ “Pride.”

Mouse’s expression of bewildered innocence vanished, replaced by a satisfied smirk. When he spoke again, his voice had shifted to a deep rumble. “Extraordinary, indeed. You are perceptive, for a mortal.” The demon’s form glowed white, shifting into a towering figure, covered in pale purple scales, head crested with twisting horns. Seven glittering black eyes regarded him with interest. “Simply killing is a warrior’s job. A mage must be so much more. The true dangers of the Fade are your preconceptions. Your pride.”

Ruadan gaped at the creature as the blood drained out of his face. He took a reflexive step back, injured leg wobbling under him. For all his mother taught him of the Fade, the sloth and rage demons had been the only he had ever encountered, and they had not been quite so . . . intimidating. Ruadan was very tall, and for the past several years had become used to looking down at mages and Templars alike. The pride demon towered over Ruadan by half-again his height. _Gods, how am I supposed to defeat that?_

The demon tilted its head, eyes shining with amusement. “You seem nervous, little mage. There is no need. The game is over. You have passed your Harrowing. Be proud.”

Ruadan eyed the demon with renewed suspicion. “Passed? How?”

“The moment you saw through my deception, you completed the task you were sent here to perform. To prove that you cannot be tricked by the illusions of the Fade. You have wisdom enough to keep your mind open to possibilities that others never consider.”

“What happened to those who were unable to see through your tricks, demon?” Ruadan wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Oh come, now, little mage,” the demon purred. “You’ve been so polite up until now. You should continue to call me Mouse.”

Ruadan blinked. “Isn’t that name a bit . . . humble for you?”

Mouse chuckled, “I find it amusing. As for the mages who failed, some were not strong or clever enough to resist whichever rage demon I pitted against them, and were cut down by the Templars as abominations. And some so pitied poor Mouse the lost mage, they willingly allowed me into their minds. I am not so great a fool to step out of the Fade and onto a Templar blade, however, so I merely absorbed what I wanted from their minds and released them. It is unfortunate, but most of those mages never wake quickly enough to keep the Templars from them.”

He felt ill. How many mages had lost their lives to this creature? “Why? You said you were trapped here. Was that a lie, as well?”

The demon sighed, “I’m afraid so, little mage. Those in the Tower send me mages to challenge my cleverness and give me memories of the mortal realm, and I provide them with a simple way to rid themselves of mages weak of will and mind.”

Ruadan shook his head. The First-Enchanter, the Templars, willingly bargaining with a demon? _Wretched hypocrites._

“These mages were not clever and strong like you, why does it bother you so?” Mouse seemed genuinely curious.

 _I need to get out of here._ “I am certain you would not understand, Mouse, and I have no time to explain it to you. Do you know how I can leave this place?”

“Very well, little mage. I shall send you back to your realm, but perhaps I will see you again?” The demon’s voice was wistful. “You have such pride, and wisdom, too. It calls to me.”

Ruadan was quite certain he did not ever wish to see this creature again. He was also sure he did not have a choice.

“Until next time, little mage. Stay vigilant in the Tower. True tests never end.” The demon reached out an enormous clawed hand and laid his scaly palm on Ruadan’s forehead.

The black void crept into his vision from the periphery, and obliterated the Fade.

**Author's Note:**

> Also, you can find me on Tumblr as draegaa


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